Lotto
by Tez
Summary: Mac and Harm win the lottery. Fairly PWP.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: At this point, I'm kind of glad I don't own JAG. I'm not sure how I'd explain away season nine if I did…maybe Dallas had the right idea, making the whole 'Who shot JR' season into a bad dream. Mac can just wake up one day and realize that Harm never joined the CIA; instead, they got married in season 3 and have 2.5 kids and a townhouse in Georgetown. Hey, we can always hope, right?

A/N: Long time, no post. My abject disgust for all of season nine has put a block on my JAG-writing ability, but look for some SVU work in the next few weeks. This is a really old, semi-PWP story that I'm stuck on. If you've got any ideas, let me know! :)

            I'm late, there's a rip in my hose, and I skipped breakfast. I'd be starving if I weren't so nervous. I've got the last part of the Carlson court-martial in half an hour and I'm terrified I'm going to lose this one. Mattoni, usually as easygoing in court as he is in person, sandbagged me yesterday and I'm in serious trouble unless the jury buys my defense that the order the petty officer was given was unlawful in the first place. I have little to no confidence that this will work, but there isn't anything else I can do. Mattoni knows he's got me over a barrel, so he's not offering any deals. The worst part is, I agree with what Carlson did, even though he was disobeying a direct order. If he goes to Leavenworth it'll be my fault.

            I step into my office, opening my second desk drawer to find my spare hose, and notice a little card in a blue envelope sitting on my desk. My name is written on it in Harm's barely legible scrawl, and I try to restrain my curiosity as I open the envelope. The front of the card is a picture of a kitten who's obviously having a worse day than I am; it's hanging from a tall tree by one paw, and its expression is absolutely piteous. I open the card and catch the small piece of paper that falls out. The inside of the card reads 'Hang in there'. I chuckle, reading Harm's added comment. 'I saw this and thought of you. Mattoni might have the upper hand, but he can't hold a candle to you, Mac. Just tell the jury what you think of the case. You're damn persuasive when you want to be. Take this for luck; the jackpot's up to 60 million. Who knows, maybe you'll win and JAG's paychecks will become the furthest thing from your mind. Good luck today.  ~H'.

            I take a better look at the slip of paper in my hand, shaking my head when I realize it's a lottery ticket. Only Harm. I slip it into my pocket, touched that Harm went out of his way to give me a pat on the back before my trial this afternoon even though he's so busy with his investigation in Norfolk. I grab my spare hose and a piece of paper, scribbling a message down and stapling it shut before handing it to Bud as I head back through the bullpen to change and then go down to the courtroom.

            "Hey Bud, can you make sure Harm gets this when he gets back from Norfolk?"

            Bud looks up, surprised. 

            "Sure, ma'am. Good luck this afternoon."

            "Thanks, Bud."

-------------------------------------------------                       

            I spare a look at Mac's office as I get off the elevator, but it's dark and the door is shut. She's already in court, then. I wanted a chance to wish her luck in person, but at least I thought of the card. I saw it when I was grocery shopping after work, and darned if that cat didn't have the same expression on its face Mac had after court yesterday. I just couldn't resist.

            "Excuse me, Commander?"

            I turn around, a smile on my face for our young protégé. "What's up, Bud?"

            "Sir, Major Mackenzie asked me to give this to you."

            I scan the note, chuckling. It only has six words, but Mac is famous for her brevity. 'If I win, we'll go halves.  ~M' The expression takes me back to last month and the conversation we had outside JAG headquarters after little AJ was born, even though I know she's talking about the lotto ticket I tossed in on impulse. Every time I think of that day, I wish five years had passed between now and then. I know that Mac and I both have a ways to go before we're ready for that kind of long-term commitment in our lives, but I've spent at least an hour of every day since then fantasizing about what our kids would be like, how many we'd have, and about a thousand NC-17 fantasies about what it would be like to be married to her that I'll never own up to.

            "Thanks, Bud," I reply, tucking the note into my pocket to add to my secret collection of things Mac has scribbled down and given to me over the years we've been together. I'm probably the only man in the whole Navy who keeps his partner's shopping lists. I love her handwriting; it's all curvy and slanty, just like girls are supposed to write. I know she'd have my head for that thought just on principle. That's why I've never shared it with her. There are lots of thoughts I don't dare share with Mac. Most of them make 'red light' a completely inadequate term. I shake my head, trying to get my mind off my partner and back to the present.

            "Sir, do you think she'll win this case?"

            I give Bud a considering look. "I don't know, Bud, but I do know she'll do her best. If she can't win it, no one can."

            "Yes, sir." He looks reassured, so I continue on to my office, whistling under my breath.  


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.

A/N: Second verse, same as the first.

            "Hey, Mac," I call, tapping on her door frame. She still looks a little dejected, even though the sentence was much lighter than anyone had any reason to hope for. "C'mon, Marine, it's almost 1700."

            "And?"

            "Oh, come on!"

            She gets up with a show of reluctance that I know is entirely for my benefit, and I pull her over to one of the TVs in the bullpen. I hear her groan when she realizes what's on. The lottery drawing is about to take place.

            "Where's your ticket?"

            I know I'm grinning like the Cheshire cat, but I'm proud of myself. I've managed to give her a distraction, if only for a few minutes, and gotten myself an excuse to chat with her at the same time. Two birds with one stone, and it only cost me three dollars. Works for me.

            She produces the ticket, waving it slightly and rolling her eyes. I wonder if she's looked closely enough to realize I picked the first parts of our serial numbers as the numbers. Knowing her, she has. Not much gets by my partner.

            "And the lucky numbers are..."

----------------------------------------

            I hate to admit it, but I'm almost excited when the announcer gets ready to read off the numbers. I've never bought a lottery ticket, never entered the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes; never even gotten one of those scratch-off cards for fun. I'm not typically very lucky, and I hate to blow money on something that's never going to pay off. The anticipation is fun, though, and I let myself think about what I'd do with 60 million dollars. My mind immediately reduces that amount; taxes would probably take it down to about 20 million, and I promised Harm half. Half of a lot is still a lot, though, and 10 million dollars is a lot of money no matter how you look at it.

            "Three!"

            I look down, unable to believe it.

            "Hey, Harm, we got a number."

            He throws a companionable arm around my shoulder. "I told you, Mac, it's a lucky ticket."

            "Seventeen!"

            I look down at the card again. 

            "Two for two, flyboy."

            He looks at the card as well. "That's what, six bucks? Not bad."

            "Twenty-five!"

            My eyes are now riveted to the card.

            "Harm..."

            "Thirty-three!"

            Harm is staring at the little card as well, and I find I'm holding my breath. Two more to go...

            "Forty-one!"

            "Jesus, Harm, how'd you do that?"

            He's as shocked as I am, and his hand clenches on mine as the last number pops up.

            "And fifty-eight! Ladies and gentlemen, the winning numbers for tonight."

            We stare at each other for a long moment.

            "Mac," he says, sounding uncertain. "Did you just win the lottery?"

            "We just won," I correct him automatically, and then what I've just said sinks in. "We just won. Harm, we won the lottery."

            Neither of us is quite sure what to do, but Harm solves that problem nicely. He grabs me around the waist and spins me around as I start to laugh. Ten million dollars. I can't even imagine what ten million dollars looks like. We're both laughing now, but we stop at the noise of a familiar someone clearing his throat.

            "Something funny, you two?"

            We snap to attention, the lottery card still in my hand, and I try desperately to hold back my giggles. Marines don't giggle, especially not in front of their CO. 

            "No, sir," Harm replies. As Chegwidden gives us the evil eye, I can feel Harm start to shake beside me from the effort of holding in his laughter. I know if I look at him the game will be up, so I stand resolutely at attention.

            "Major?"

            Aw, man. I know I can't talk without giving myself away. I decide to go with the truth.

            "Sorry, sir. We, ah...we won the lottery, sir. That is, the commander and myself. Sir."

            The look Chegwidden is giving me says that I'm obviously insane and need to be treated with caution.

            "The lottery, Major?"

            "Yes, sir." I'm warming up to the topic. "I had a rough trial today, sir, and Harm bought me a card with a little cat on it and a lottery ticket for luck, and I lost the trial but the sentence was light so I guess it kind of worked, and we just watched the lottery drawing on TV and...and we won. Sir."

            Harm is absolutely vibrating with laughter now, and I'm sure his lips must be white from the force he's applying to keep them shut.

            "Major..." The admiral seems to be at a loss for words, which just makes Harm shake harder. I'm afraid he's literally going to explode. "You're serious?"

            I extend the ticket to him, and he takes it with the same enthusiasm I would have for touching a rattlesnake.

            "Yes, sir."

            He looks at the ticket and then at the numbers still scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen. Shaking his head, he hands it back to me.

            "Well, congratulations, Major. Of all the people in this office, I can honestly say this could only happen to the two of you."

            "Thank you, sir," I reply, and Harm finally loses it. 

-------------------------------------

            I manage to keep quiet through Mac's absolutely embarrassing run-on sentence describing the events leading up to this, but when she thanks the admiral in that guileless tone, I can't control myself any longer. A great guffaw escapes me, and before I know it I'm doubled over with laughter, eyes streaming. I can't remember the last time I laughed like this. I can't remember the last time someone I know won the lottery, either, so maybe that's got something to do with it.

            I hear the admiral say something to Mac, and then she's pulling me up straight as he walks away.

            "Smooth, Harm," she scolds, and I give her a disbelieving look. 

            "Look who's talking!"

            She shakes her head. "So what are we supposed to do now?"

            I reach out and take the lotto card, flipping it over to the back to read the directions on cashing it in.

            "Turn it in, I guess. Take the money and move to Cancun."

            She's still shaking her head, but the look on her face has gone from amusement to wonder. 

            "Ten million dollars. What am I going to do with ten million dollars?"

            I give her an odd look. 

            "The jackpot's sixty million, Mac."

            She returns it with an odd look of her own.

            "Yeah, so that's ten for me, ten for you, and forty for Uncle Sam by way of taxes."

            It's my turn to shake my head. "Mac, you don't think I'm going to hold you to that, do you?"

            She looks offended. "I sure as hell do, Commander. I told you we'd go halves. Besides, you're the one who paid for it. It ought to all go to you."

            I don't really feel right about this – my partner won fair and square – but I'm not going to argue with her if she wants to give me ten million dollars.

            "Okay, fair's fair," I agree, and she gives me that smile she gets when she thinks she's won an argument. I'm the real winner here, but I don't mind letting her think otherwise. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG. I also don't own the MCATs. If you could get me the rights to either of these, I would be extremely grateful.

A/N: If you've made it this far, I now owe you an apology. I write stories in bits and pieces, then tack them together at the end. This story is missing six months in the middle, and I can't for the life of me decide what to do with them. Here's what I know: Harm and Mac stay in the military and keep the money. That's it. If you have some idea how they might have passed those six months, let me know and I'll stick another chapter in the middle. Until then, consider this to be six months later…

Six months later…

            "Come on, Harm. Lunch time."

            I look up from my case file, pretending to be preoccupied. I'm not, actually; I'm not paying any attention to the papers in my hand. I'm still mad that she's forgotten what today is, and although I know it's juvenile and she has other things on her mind right now, I feel a little betrayed. I remembered her birthday this year, and her memory is supposed to be better than mine.

            "I'm busy, Mac."

----------------------

            The barely-contained hurt in his voice nearly makes me relent and tell him what's going on, but everyone's worked so hard to keep it a surprise that I can't ruin it. 

            "Oh, stop pouting, Navy." He gives me a funny look and I elaborate. "Just because Mattoni got the defense for that Allenger case...not every interesting case that comes through this office is going to be assigned to you, you know."

----------------------

            I wasn't pouting before, but I am now. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Pouting?"

----------------------

            Oh boy, I made it worse. Time to get this show on the road. The rest of the office staff is already gone, presumably on their way to the restaurant.

            "Look, Harm, can't we just drop it and have a nice lunch?"

----------------------

            She gives me that puppy-dog look she knows I can't resist, and I give in. I'm still mad, though, and I know this lunch is going to be torture.

            "Fine. Let's go."

----------------------

            I'm getting antsy. Mac has passed at least a dozen restaurants and our lunch hour is half up. I've got a deposition to take at 1300, courtesy of Bud's overzealous scheduling, and I don't want to be late. I'm also crabby because we've been in the car for twenty minutes and Mac isn't talking. About anything. I've tried to start a few conversations, and she just nods noncommittally and returns her attention to the road. 

            "Mac, will you pick someplace already?"

            "Chill out, Harm," she replies, reaching over to rest a hand on my knee and squeezing it lightly. All right, I won't mind spending the rest of my lunch hour driving around DC if she's going to do that. To my everlasting delight, she appears to forget her hand is there, and we spend the next five minutes in an infinitely more companionable silence than we managed for the first part of the trip.

----------------------

            It's amazing how fast he mellows when I give him a little physical contact. He's like a cat, I swear. Pet him and he purrs. I watch the road carefully, afraid I'll miss the turnoff for Limon's. It's set back from the street, but I spot it and turn. Harm doesn't appear to recognize the area until the restaurant pops up on our right.

            "Mac, are you kidding?" he asks, and I detect a hint of excitement in his voice. We've both heard about this place, but it's impossible to get reservations unless you call at least three months ahead. Or, as it turns out, unless you're willing to drop some serious money on getting the reservations last-minute. I did the latter; now that I have serious money and no real idea what to do with it, it seems worth it just for the shock value. I pull up to the front and hand the valet who opens my door the keys to my 'vette. Harm waits for me at the curb, an unreadable expression on his face. He offers me his arm and I take it, and then he ducks his head down to kiss my cheek.

            "You're amazing, did you know that?"

            I smile up at him. "Happy birthday, Harm."

            Now he's beaming. His arm snakes out of my grasp and around my waist, his hand coming to rest on my hip. We step inside and up to the hostess.

            "Reservations for Mackenzie," I tell her, and she gives me a very unsubtle wink that Harm catches.

            "Right this way," she replies, and we head toward the back room.

            "Mac," Harm murmurs in my ear, arm still firmly around me. "What was that about?"

            I shrug, deliberately not looking at him. "Gee, Harm, I have no idea." I smile up at him. "Maybe she thinks you're cute."

            He snickers; the hostess can't be a day over twenty. She gestures in front of her to the private dining area.

            "Enjoy your meal," she says, and I indicate that Harm should precede me inside. He makes it three steps in and comes to a screeching halt. I follow, grinning. 

            "You are so dead," he whispers to me around a smile, which is doubtlessly for the benefit of the entire JAG Ops staff plus other assorted visitors in the dining room. They all rise when he comes in, and I can tell he's trying not to blush.

            "Surprise!" twenty voices chorus, and he shakes his head as he smiles. 

            "You got me," he admits to them, turning to poke my shoulder. "Tell me this was your idea."

            "Completely," the admiral tells him, stepping up to shake his hand. "The major certainly knows how to organize a surprise party. She had all the details locked down tighter than Fort Knox. We didn't even know where it was until today."

            "Most of us didn't, anyway," another voice says, and Clayton Webb steps up to shake Harm's hand as well. "Some of us have our sources."

            "And the rest of us were just as surprised as you were," a third person puts in, and Harm gives her a dazzling smile. 

            "Harriet! I'm so glad you came."

            She gives him a big hug, ignoring protocol. "How could the two of us miss your birthday?" she demands playfully, holding up little AJ. The baby reaches for Harm and Harriet hands him over cheerfully, and the look on Harm's face makes me hope and pray that the next five years pass at light speed. I can't wait until he looks at our children like that.

----------------------

            I've finished opening almost all of the presents. Among them are a high-tech radar detection set that I think Webb swiped from a classified lab somewhere, tickets to the Washington Philharmonic from Bobbie, an antique sextant from the admiral, and a gorgeous new chess set from Bud and Harriet. Most everyone is up and moving, either dancing on the small wooden dance floor or chatting amongst themselves. Mac slides into the chair next to me, and I smile over at her.

            "This is amazing, Sarah. Thank you."

            She flushes and hands me a small box with a card attached. "I got this in Norfolk six months ago. I was going to wait for Christmas, but I'm awful about keeping surprises."

            "You did a pretty good job today," I reply, removing the wrapping paper carefully. It's a leftover habit from my childhood, when my mother would reuse wrapping paper from year to year. I open the box and gasp, reaching in to pull out a blown glass model of a Stearman. Not just any Stearman, but Sarah, right down to the markings and ID number.

            "Did I get it right?"

            I give her an awed look. "It's perfect." She smiles, obviously relieved it went over well, and I set the model down carefully before grabbing her in an impromptu hug. "Thank you."

            "You're welcome."

            A song I recognize comes on, and I see my opportunity. 

            "Care to dance?"

            "It is your birthday," she acquiesces, eyes twinkling as we step onto the dance floor. I'm trying to decide if I should stand a respectable distance away or indulge myself and hold her close when she decides for me, curling her arms around the back of my neck and setting her cheek against my chest. I rest both hands lightly on the small of her back, acutely aware that we're still in uniform and the admiral's less than forty feet away. I'm also very aware of how good she smells and how close we are. It's a desperate battle to keep myself from doing something irresponsible and getting myself slapped, disbarred and court-martialed in that order. We haven't been dancing more than two minutes when a tap on my shoulder distracts me.

            "Can I cut in?"

            I resist the urge to scowl at Sydney, but Mac shrugs gamely, stepping back and letting the admiral's girlfriend step into her place. The admiral takes Mac's hand, and I'm quick to note that they maintain the respectful distance I couldn't. I don't have any problem keeping that distance with Sydney, though, and we chat about my birthday plans for the weekend while I watch my partner out of the corner of my eye.

-------------------        

            "This was a nice idea, Mac," the admiral tells me, and I smile. 

            "It was nice of you to extend our break, sir. I never could have fit all of this into an hour."

            "Lieutenant Roberts is to thank for that, Major. He scheduled fake appointments for everyone until 1500."

            I chuckle. "I wondered about that. Harm was getting angry with me; he thought he'd be late getting back."

            Chegwidden gives me an unreadable look. "The two of you are getting along well recently."

            I know what he means, but I'm intentionally going to play dumb. Harm and I are still dancing around this thing between us, and until we figure it out I don't want to discuss it with anyone else.

            "Yes, sir. We were overdue for some peace and quiet."

            He sighs. "As you will, Major. Just remember I'm rooting for you."

            "I've never doubted it, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: If I owned JAG, I would have had the decency to change the title to 'CIA' this season. And while I was at it, I would have given Webb more screen time. He is an interesting and complex character (read: he's hot) and I'd like to see him more fully explored on screen (read: he's really hot).

A/N: Finally, the PWP we've all been waiting for!

            She's beautiful tonight. She's beautiful all the time, actually, but here in front of the fire, wrapped up in her favorite green sweater and a blanket my mom knitted for me the first time I shipped overseas, she's breathtaking. I find myself shaking my head at my own idiocy. Here's the most important woman in my life - gorgeous, smart, funny, loyal – and I've never told her any of it. A distinguished flying cross and numerous other honors to my name, and I can't find the courage to do anything more than watch her while she's not looking.

            She glances up from the dossier she's reading and gives me a little smile, and I can feel my heart skip a beat. Before Russia, before she followed me halfway across the world to find out what happened to my father for no better reason than because she's my friend and I needed her, I simply had a crush on her. Now that I know just how loyal she really is, how much I can trust her and how much I mean to her in return, that crush has been developing into something uncomfortably like infatuation. Everything reminds me of her; everything in my life begs for her approval.

            Take my apartment. I used to be able to make decisions on my own: which paint colors to pick, which rug to buy, what kind of furniture I wanted. Now, I can't do so much as sand the floor without her opinion. The new kitchen table is one she found while we were antiquing last week, hidden in a little shop on Fifty-third. I wasn't sure about it, but she insisted and now I can't imagine the apartment without it. The armchair I'm sitting in was a find of hers, too, and the rug she's currently sprawled across was part of my Christmas gift last year. Every part of my life reflects her presence, but if I really need to be surrounded by her, all I have to do is walk in my front door. 

----------------------------      

            I clear my throat and Harm gives me a guilty look.

            "Working hard or hardly working, flyboy?"

            "Just admiring the scenery," he replies, flashing me that gorgeous grin. I wonder if he has any idea how that smile affects me. My knees turn to jelly and my heart races; I feel like a lovestruck teenager.

            "Does that deserve a traffic signal?"

            His grin widens. "That depends. Feel like handing me a green light? It is my birthday, after all."

            I can't tell if he's teasing or not. He's still grinning like a fool, but his eyes are dark and serious. Usually it's Harm who backs away first, and I tell myself that if he's kidding, he'll do just that. 

            "Okay, birthday boy," I reply. Shrugging off his blanket and dropping the file I'm holding, I lean back on my elbows to better allow for his viewing pleasure. "Green light. Go for it."

----------------------------      

            I don't think I've ever been as turned on in my life as I am when she tells me I've got a green light to 'admire the scenery'. A little voice in my head tells me that if I'm going to keep my feelings secret I need to crack a joke and look away, but I'm sick of that pattern. Things will go back to normal tomorrow, I know, but it's almost one in the morning and any restraint I might have is already asleep. 

            I set down the notes I've been pretending to take and let my eyes rove over my partner's lithe form. Cute little toes, still painted with sparkly pink polish from her last weekend with Chloe. Trim ankles, those exceptional legs that make me thankful every day to whoever designed the Marine Corps uniform skirt, perfectly curved hips, slim waist, flat abs...I nearly lose my nerve as I come to the next stop on my visual tour, but I've got the green and green means go. I can feel her gaze boring into me as I spend a little longer staring at her chest than I did pretty much anywhere else, but she doesn't realize that I've already moved on to her collarbones. I don't know what it is about them, but they're just breathtaking, and the position she's reclining in shows them off beautifully. From there I move to her smooth neck, adorned with the little diamond pendant I splurged for last year on her birthday, past full, slightly parted lips that have fueled many a Harmon Rabb, Jr. fantasy, and end up gazing into beautiful brown eyes that shimmer with the firelight and her resigned amusement. That amusement fades as the stare continues, and we approach and pass the point where I usually look away and say something inconsequential to break the mood. Tonight I have no interest in breaking the mood. 

----------------------------

            I can't believe he took me seriously with the green light, but as he looks me over I struggle to keep my amusement on my face. I'm not amused anymore, I'm completely turned on. Now if he would just get out of that chair and come over here and act on the desire I can see burning in his gaze...

----------------------------

            The phone startles both of us, and I curse under my breath before I reach over to grab it. No matter what we do, something always gets between us when we come close to...whatever we were just close to doing. 

            "Rabb."

            "Hi, honey!"

            Good lord, it's my mother, who's obviously forgotten about the time difference again. It should be illegal to have to hear your mother's voice while you're having the thoughts I'm having and the inspiration for them is less than ten feet away. 

            "Hey, mom. What's up?"

            Mac gives me a little smile and returns her attention to the case file in front of her, and I suppress another curse. I can tell from the expression on her face that she's pushed this moment away like we've done so many times in the past with so many other moments, and I swear to myself that I'll figure out some way to get the possibility of more between us out in the open. The hints and little moments between us in the past have fueled my desire for her, and the answering passion I saw in her eyes tonight tells me I've got a pretty good chance.

----------------------------

----------------------------

            My mother has finally talked herself out, and I'm returning to the living room to hang up the phone when I realize Mac's fast asleep, curled up in front of the fireplace. I sink down onto the couch and just watch her for a few minutes. She's so strong, so brilliant, but when she's asleep she just looks peaceful. Finally, I decide that she's not going to be a happy camper if she wakes up on the floor tomorrow morning, so I'd better wake her or move her. 

            I immediately throw out the idea of waking her. She needs the sleep and I don't have the heart. Besides, if I wake her she'll insist on going home. I don't mind taking the couch if it means I can hear her breathing in the dark across the room. I drop down beside her, unable to resist the urge to brush her hair away from her face before I slide my arms under her and lift her. I'm surprised at how little she weighs; for all that I tease her about her eating habits, she's almost too thin. 

            As I carry her the thirty feet from the fireplace to my bed, she shifts in my arms and snuggles her head against my chest, murmuring something I don't catch. I don't want to put her down, but I know if she wakes up and I'm holding her she'll probably remove one of my arms. I lay her on top of the covers and go back to grab the afghan she was wrapped in earlier. When I get back, she's blinking up at me and I mentally curse my luck. Now she'll insist on going home. 

            "Hey," she murmurs. I sit down beside her, draping the blanket over her.

            "Go back to sleep," I tell her, and she shakes her head. This is the part where she tells me she's imposing and high-tails it out of here.

            "You didn't get your kiss."         

            Uh, what?

            She sees the confusion on my face and smiles. "Your birthday kiss, Harm." Before I can protest that she's half-asleep and not in control of what she's doing, her arms are wrapped around my neck and her lips are on mine.

            It's a nice kiss, gentle and chaste. It's over far too soon for my tastes, but she just smiles up at me before dropping her head down onto the pillow.

            "Happy birthday, Harm," she says. Happy birthday, indeed. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

            "Just now," I tell her, and her smile is brilliant. She pats the pillow next to hers, and when I waver she swats at me.

            "You're not sleeping on the couch," she says, yawning. "You're a foot longer than it is. I passed kindergarten, I know how to share."

            I smile and give in. I can't think of any better way to end my birthday than snuggled up to the woman I love. Besides, the couch really is too short.


End file.
